Page 33 of Falling for the Grumpy Stranger

“D’ya think?” Ava asked her as she skittered past. Ava looked back at me over her shoulder. “Nighty-night and sweet dreams.” She winked.

The house would be quiet soon, and the storm had stopped. No more excuses. I opened my laptop to write. I’d sent my first article to the editor, and she’d written just a quick note that she liked what she saw, so it seemed right to get a head start on the next one. No reason not to be the teacher’s—or editor’s—pet.

Margaret’s story focused both on her achievements as a woman back in Victorian times and her heartbreak, the building of her dream house and the unfortunate series of events that led to her demise. Her cousin, Magnum, was a whole other character.

While Margaret Grimstone left behind a legacy that anyone would be proud of, her cousin, the sole heir to the family fortune … not so much. Magnum Grimstone had been given a magnificent, commanding name at birth, but magnificence certainly didn’t follow him through life, unless you can count an extraordinary ability to lose at the gaming table “magnificent.”

Magnum was the first and only son born to Margaret’s uncle, Oscar Grimstone, and from birth, Magnum wore the title of “future heir to the Grimstone fortune.” The fortune, a plethora of real estate holdings, railroad stocks and liquid assets big enough to make even rich people green with envy, came easy and early to Magnum. Margaret died young, and an even younger Magnum, a young man suspended for “college shenanigans,” as stated in the local paper, suddenly found himself with more money than most people made in a lifetime—ten lifetimes.

By all accounts, it seemed Margaret had only met her young cousin on several occasions, including her uncle’s funeral and the baptism of her youngest niece, Frida. While the family fortune’s fate was sealed long before it came to Margaret’s hands, it is certain that she never would have handed over the ownership of her beloved Grimstone if she’d known Magnum’s dark secret. The man had a gambling addiction. Let’s just say when the other players saw Magnum Grimstone walk through the door with his black suit and eager grin, they knew they were going to have a great night.

My phone beeped. I searched around for it under the pile of blankets on the couch. It was a text from Rhett.

“Had a great time tonight. Book sorting tomorrow?”

“I’d like that.” I was the only person in the room, but I could feel my cheeks warm as I sent my text. A yawn slipped in next. I shut the laptop. The sordid tales of Magnum Grimstone would have to wait. I needed my beauty rest. I had a big day of book sorting ahead.

Chapter Twenty-Five

RHETT

The contractor’s name was Buster, or at least that was the name he went by, though he admitted rather sheepishly that his given name was Fred. Not sure where the Buster moniker came from, and since the expression he wore after worming his way out of the tight crawlspace where he inspected the foundation told me he had no intention of taking the job, I didn’t care to find out the origin ofBuster.

“Well, well, well, haven’t seen one like that in years,” Buster muttered as he peeled out of the gray protective coveralls. “Do you get many earthquakes up here?” As he asked it, he surveyed the area.

Him bringing up the topic of earthquakes didn’t boost my confidence on his final analysis. “Uh, do you mean specifically up here on this hill or the area in general?”

Buster had a laugh that came with a decent amount of spittle. I’d already learned to stay back after that unpleasant reality literally hit me in the entryway when he spotted what he thought might be mold. I wasn’t sure why it was funny, but apparently, it was a comical thing in the world of renovation.

“I meant in general. Anyhow, that stone foundation would need some fortification that might help in an earthquake. Not abig one—but a good shaker, and it should hold with additional support. Or, if we want to make sure it can hold and not fall down this hill in a major quake, we can do a major overhaul.”

Since I had no real grasp of the seismic activity in the area it seemed the overhaul would be the safer bet. “What would that entail?”

“Well, we put supports down there and lift the entire house up off the stone foundation. Then we pour a new foundation, we set the house back down and bolt it to the new foundation. Then it’ll be like new. A nine-pointer could roll through, and your house would still be standing.”

“I’ve lived in San Francisco, and I don’t think anything would be standing after a nine-pointer. Let me think about it.”

“I get it. I get it.” Buster was the belly-scratching type. He rubbed the round mound that strained the buttons on his work shirt. “Talk it over with the little lady.” He was also the “little lady” type, apparently.

“There’s no wife. Just me.”

His face snapped up. “Really? Then who was that beautiful blonde I waved to as she walked down the path?”

I was confused and not altogether sure Buster knew what he was talking about. I wasn’t expecting Ella for another hour. She knew I was talking to a contractor and didn’t want to get in the way.

“Oh, that’s just a friend. I didn’t know she was here. Well, send me an estimate for both things, and I’ll make a decision. What about the rest of the renovation? Are you interested?”

“Foundations are my specialty. If you’ve got a mold problem, you’ll need a lot of mitigation first. Then I can put you in touch with a friend whose specialty is interior renovation.” Buster dropped his coverall over his shoulder and looked back at the house. “Hope you have deep pockets. This place is beautiful, butit’s going to take a lot of this.” He held up his hand and rubbed his fingers and thumb together.

I nodded and made the first move toward his truck. I was done with Buster and his last-century gestures and habits. He got into his truck. “I’ll send you over an estimate in a few days. It’ll take me a bit to pull together the numbers. Haven’t done a job this big in years.” Yet another layer of confidence in my latest contractor peeled away.

“I’ll keep an eye out for it in my email.”

He spun his truck around. I pulled out my phone as I headed to the house. I called Ella. “Sorry I missed you this morning. Did we get our times crossed?”

“Not following.” She sounded slightly groggy. A cute sounding yawn followed. “When did we miss each other? I’m embarrassed to admit I slept very late and am still clad in flannel and socks.”

I decided that Buster was delusional or maybe someone made a wrong turn up the drive. It happened occasionally.

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